Tropical Safeguard (Men Of The Secret Service) (4 page)

“A Gammy? No way, not yet,” George
chuckled.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be a
grandmother yet. I’m not even fifty.”

“Hold on guys, let’s change the subject.
I can see the stress reappearing on her lovely face,” Katrina joked as Jacque
put a plate in front of her. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “Smells
fabulous, Jacque!” Opening her eyes, she looked up and found the handsome agent
staring at her again, but this time with an unmistakable intensity. She’d seen
men look at her like that before, many times. She straightened and cleared her
throat, his attentive stare making her squirm. She didn’t take too kindly to
strange men ogling her, even if he was drop-dead gorgeous. These days, she
considered that kind of attention invasive.

                                   
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“Well,
that was delicious,” said Agent Kensing as he put his fork down and dabbed his
mouth with his napkin. His compliment made Cole stop mid-bite, along with
everyone else at the table. There was a brief moment of silence as everyone
stared. He scraped back his chair noisily and got up. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Agent Kensing, where are you going?”
Cole asked, noticing his colleague’s half-eaten plate.

“Sorry, folks, but Agent Nielsen and I
have to get back to what we started. I won’t feel comfortable until we’ve
completed our initial sweep of the mansion. Your safety is our main concern.
I’m sure you understand.”

Cole clenched his teeth and took a
breath. This was going too far. Leaving in the middle of a meal while others
were still eating went against everything he’d been taught. It was inexcusable.
Agent Kensing’s hard-as-nails demeanor was grating on his very last nerve. This
week in paradise was already turning into the week from hell.

“I’ll join you in a moment,” Cole said
sternly, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Alright then. I’ll be waiting in the
living room,” Agent Kensing said and walked away.

The uncomfortable silence at the table
was interrupted once again by the chef. “Would anyone like a mini-molten fudge
cake for dessert? I’ll begin to warm them now.”

After
the delicious meal, Cole thanked the chef and approached Agent Kensing in the
living room full of anger. Pacing, the veteran agent was completely unaware of
the stress he’d caused everyone around him. There was no changing the man and
Cole knew this, but still.... part of their job description was to blend
effortlessly into the background, not enforce their presence on every
situation. Clearly, the man was a razor-edged catalyst.

Looking up, Agent Kensing noticed Cole’s
arrival. “Good, you’re finally here.” He tucked his phone into his jacket
pocket. “I’ve just done some research. Bermuda has a low crime rate relatively
speaking. It’s probably one of the safest places we can be. Still, you have to
check things out before resting assured that nothing will happen. And rest
assured, Agent Nielsen, nothing’s going to happen while I’m on the job. Mark my
words,” Agent Kensing said adamantly.

“Fine. I understand.” Cole was at a loss.
What could he possibly say? Did this guy actually believe he was here to goof
off and not take the job seriously too? The veteran agent didn’t seem to
possess a necessary level of decorum. He led the way and Cole followed.

“Lets cover the second floor guestrooms
while they’re eating and out of the way. We’ll then move on to the staff
quarters. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Of course.” Cole wanted the task out of
the way. Once they started the rhythm of shifts, he could easily avoid him.
They would pass each other like ships in the night.

Agent Kensing seemed distracted, unable
to relax and slow down. There was definitely something bothering him. The chip
on his shoulder was doubling in size as they walked up the long winding
staircase to the second floor.

“Is anything wrong?” Cole ventured,
noticing Kensing’s furrowed brow.

“No, nothing. Why do you ask?”

Thinking the question absurd since his
attitude was transparent, Cole shook his head, eyebrows raised. “I just sense
something bothering you, that’s all. Have I offended you in any way?”

“I appreciate you asking, but like I
said, lets keep this professional. Me letting you know that my wife is thinking
of leaving me and I’m stewing over it would be crossing a line. Just got a
message from her and it ticked me off. Enough said?”

“Enough said. I’ll drop it.” Cole felt a
pang of sadness at
Agent Prickly’s
disclosure, but not enough to dwell on it. The man
had made his own bed.

After spending a much lengthier amount of
time securing the second floor guestrooms, the agents made their way back
downstairs passing through the kitchen on their way to the staff quarters. The
table was clear and Jacque was loading the dishwasher. Cole wondered where the
spitfire had gone, still uncertain about her role here at the mansion. She’d
peaked his curiosity. He’d missed his second chance to ask her at the table.
Agent Kensing had set the rigid tone and Cole didn’t want to continue it after
he’d left, so he ate in silence and avoided asking any questions.

The staff’s quarters were located behind
the kitchen on the main floor. There were five rooms in total; one for the
chef; one for the chauffeur; one for Spitfire – whatever position she
held; and one for each of the agents. A full house. Cole and Agent Kensing
quickly looked into each room to get a lay of the land. The first two rooms
were messy and overflowing with personal possessions, the objects advertising
their owners. Jacque’s room was brimming with cookbooks on the dresser and the
bedside table. He had a framed certificate from
Le Cordon Bleu
above his bed. Damien’s
floor was covered in clothes and a picture of his ten-year-old daughter was in
a frame beside the bed. A poster of a sports car and a scantily clad woman hung
on the wall. The room was stereotypical bachelor – or teenage boy –
the lines were blurred. Clearly Damien was single, probably divorced. Why else
would he be living at the mansion? The accumulation of stuff lent itself to the
amount of time each staff member had been employed at the mansion.

Cole knew the room with the cream-colored
walls and billowy white summer duvet on the double bed belonged to the stunning
yet defensive woman he’d met earlier. Katrina. Her room was sparse, tranquil,
and a string of Hindu prayer beads hung over the doorknob. It was as if she had
no possessions. And, like Damien, he assumed she was single too. She must be.
Why else would she be here? Unless…maybe her and Damien were an item? An
uncontrollable flicker of jealous heat licked under Cole’s collar at the
thought.
 
He pulled at it, willing
himself to relax.

“Must be nice to have such a simple life.
Not too challenging,” Agent Kensing commented as they entered.

Cole couldn’t tell if the man was
insulting her or paying her a compliment. He didn’t bother to ask. Something
told him she was anything but simple.

“Nothing here,” the veteran agent said as
he passed Cole and left the room.

The bathroom door stood ajar and Cole
noticed something pink on the floor. Panties. He looked away, knowing full well
that he should be leaving. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with….

“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Katrina pushed the door open further and entered.

“Ahh, sorry, I was just…” Cole felt his
face flush. He noticed her hand on her hip. Defensive. Confrontational. Quite
the opposite reaction he was expecting from someone into meditation yet the
only reaction he’d ever seen from her. In the brief moment of their stare down,
he also noticed how jade-green her eyes were and how her eyelashes seemed to
stretch for eternity. He’d noticed them from across the table earlier, but
hadn’t wanted to stare too much. Now, her eyes bore into him like lasers and in
turn he couldn’t look away if his life depended on it. He wondered if she wore
colored contacts, but judging by her lack of make-up, she was a natural beauty
all the way, a far cry from high-maintenance.

“Agent, I think you’ve crossed a line
here. I don’t take kindly to strange men entering my room. This is extremely
unprofessional and I will be talking to Mr. Winters about it.” She stepped
closer to him, unintentionally blocking his way. For such a tiny person, she
commanded the space.

Cole hung his head, embarrassed. “Listen,
I apologize, Miss. If it’s any consolation, we’re doing our job to keep you
safe and we also have to ensure Secretary Mitchell and Deputy Greenbaum’s
safety.” Looking up, Cole was hopeful that this would put her at ease. It
didn’t.

“Safe from what? Killer birds? Man-eating
fish? We’re in Bermuda, agent. Mr. Winters has already put us through the
necessary hoops. We’ve had intensive criminal record checks; he’s crosschecked
our references, referrals, and previous employers. We’re a very trustworthy
group of people here. No masked murderers, gangsters, or plotters in your
midst. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave my room.”

Cole raised his eyebrows. Yes, perhaps
her reaction was warranted, but man was she ever direct. Yet despite her
negative energy, she seemed cautious. He had the feeling she didn’t want to be
rude but her anger got the better of her.

“What is your role here at the mansion?”
Cole took a chance in asking.

“I’m Mrs. Winters’ Pilates instructor and
massage therapist. Why?”

“I had to ask. Listen, we were just
following protocol and since you weren’t here to answer our knock, we took
matters into our own hands. I’m sorry if you feel invaded. Excuse me.” Cole
curtly walked around her and left, leaving the door ajar. She slammed her door
behind him like an exclamation point to his departure.

Cole was still in shock over the feisty
woman’s overt bluntness when he found Agent Kensing.

“Well, what’s the story there? She’s very
attractive.”
 

For some reason, the comment annoyed Cole
further. “No story, just a staff member. Moving on…”

Chapter Three

An island that
historically ran rampant with treasure-laden galleons and pirates, Bermuda now
held a civilized serenity that Katrina cherished. She could not have created
the perfect escape if she’d tried.

Opening the double doors
onto her balcony, she walked out into the salty tropical air of the approaching
evening. This place was paradise on earth, this expansive room, the secluded
immaculately groomed property, and the quiet. It wasn’t just the environment,
it was the people in it too. They didn’t pry. Well, aside from the recent staff
additions. Thinking of her earlier encounter with Agent Nielsen sent her heart
plummeting. A nagging guilt began to fester in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps
she’d overreacted – something she normally didn’t do, but under circumstances
beyond her control she did often now. Her fuse had shortened to the point of
impatience, a trait she never would have used to describe herself before. Was
it self-preservation? The thought of a strange man in her room – her
space – was extremely unsettling. She’d come so far. No man would make
her feel vulnerable and exposed ever again. She wouldn’t let that happen, not
anymore. But still, there was something about the tall, rugged agent that
captured her imagination. Something tender, almost vulnerable in his
mannerisms. He seemed gentle, cautious even, yet he was all man. She sensed he
was a little out of his element with the other agent. And he was, after all,
just doing his job. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him – too hard on a
member of the Secret Service. Was she asking for trouble?

Her long dark hair blew
in the breeze and she raised a hand to pull it back behind her ear. Leaning
against the balcony rail, Katrina stared out at the breathtaking view of the
ocean and the pink and orange hues of the descending sun on the horizon. Even
the best five star hotels couldn’t offer this kind of relaxed, private escape.
It was breathtaking. Being late November, the temperature was cool but
comfortable. The evening air filled with the musical chorus of whistling tree
frogs, a twilight ritual Katrina could always count on. Looking down at the
quaint courtyard below, she noticed movement to her right. Seeing who it was,
Katrina was torn with a desire to crouch out of sight or return to her room.
But then, she wondered if coming out on the balcony and seeing him at this very
moment was fate. Agent Nielsen was strolling down the cobbled path that led to
the cliffs at the far right of the sprawling back lawn. Although it was dusk,
Katrina could see him clearly from her vantage point and at this distance, she
decided he looked a little melancholy as he moped along. He stopped to inspect
a leaf on one of the trees with curiosity and in doing so, turned slightly in
her direction. Katrina felt a wave of panic. The last thing she wanted was to
be seen staring at him, spying. Her feelings of guilt over their shared drama
returned and all at once, she felt the urge to clear the air.